


Hug O' War

by eternaleponine



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2018-09-24 15:19:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9767828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eternaleponine/pseuds/eternaleponine
Summary: Clarke arrives at school on Valentine's Day to a series of gifts from a mysterious someone.  She becomes convinced it's some kind of cruel joke.  Is she willing to take a chance on finding out that it's not?





	1. Chapter 1

Clarke saw the heart taped to her locker long before she got to it, and she felt her cheeks flush. It wasn't the only one, and it wasn't even the biggest one, but for some reason it still felt like it stuck out and that everyone who walked past would notice it and wonder who the hell would want to leave a Valentine for _her_?

Not that people hated her or anything. Not that she was some kind of pariah. She wasn't _popular_ , but she wasn't _un_ popular, either. She tried to get along with everyone, with somewhat mixed results. But she'd felt like she'd had a spotlight on her ever since her dad died, and then there was the whole thing with Finn, and...

She approached her locker carefully, like the heart might pop open and spray silly string on her or something. It didn't. As far as she could tell, it was just a piece of red construction paper that had been cut into a heart shape (without folding it in half first... she assumed some kind of stencil must have been involved because it was way too even to have been done freehand). She touched the edge of it gingerly, peeling it away and flipping it over to see who it was from.

There was no name. Which probably meant that it was from Octavia or Raven or something, because who else would bother? Maybe Wells, now that they'd patched things up at least a little bit. Probably Wells, actually. He had always been the kid in elementary school who made sure to include a little extra candy or something with his Valentines to the less popular kids, just so that they wouldn't feel left out. She was his Valentine's Day charity case this year, she guessed. 

"Who's that from?" Octavia asked, slamming herself against the locker next to Clarke's in a way that sounded like it had to be painful, but Octavia didn't even flinch. Sometimes Clarke wondered if she had that weird disorder where you couldn't feel pain. 

"Wells," Clarke said. "Probably."

"Probably?" Octavia snatched it from Clarke's hand, turning it over and peering at it. "It doesn't say it's from Wells."

"So?" Clarke said. "Just give it back."

"Maybe it's from a _secret admirer_ ," Octavia teased. 

"Maybe it's from Bellamy," Raven said, coming up on her other side and grinning past her at Octavia. "Ever thought about that?"

"What?!" Octavia squawked. "No! No way. That's gross. Bell and Clarke? That's grosser than that time Murphy—"

"Don't," Clarke said, managing to get a hand over Octavia's mouth before she could regale them with whatever disgusting thing Murphy had done that Octavia had had the misfortune to witness. "Please. Just don't."

"Okay, but you have to admit that it's gross," Octavia said. "You and my brother." She shuddered.

"Don't worry," Clarke said. "That would never happen." She liked Bellamy well enough, but not like that. "Anyway, doesn't he have a girlfriend?"

"Yeah," Octavia said. 

"So?" Raven asked. "When has that ever stopped anyone?"

Clarke winced. It had been a mistake. A stupid, drunken mistake that she regretted deeply as soon as she found out that Finn already had a girlfriend. Who he hadn't mentioned, of course, before they'd ended up in bed together. Because why would he?

"Boys suck," she said. 

"Girls s—" Murphy started to say as he happened by, but he was stopped by several of the other guys more or less tackling him against the lockers, the noise of which brought a teacher out into the hall, and they decided it was probably better to head to class rather than risk getting sucked into whatever was about to go down.

Clarke had English first period, which was generally a pretty decent way to start the day. It allowed her to kind of ease into things without having to strain her brain too much. The seats were arranged in a sort of double horseshoe shape, and although they didn't have assigned seats, everyone tended to sit in the same places. She went to 'her' desk in the first row at one end of the curve, and looked down to find something on her desk.

It was a poem with a little illustration of two people hugging. She read it, and then read it again, and then rolled her eyes and laughed. She glanced around to see if Wells was poking his head in to see her reaction, but no... the only people in the room were the usual early arrivals, and none of them were paying any attention to her. She then checked the other desks to see if maybe it was something that her teacher had done, leaving a poem for everyone, but the other desks were bare.

 _Weird._ But kind of amusing. Or sweet. Or something. She would have to thank Wells when she saw him next block; it was nice to start the day with a smile. 

The smile faded somewhat as her teacher announced that in honor of the holiday they were going to start reading one of the greatest romances of all time: _Romeo & Juliet_.

Clarke raised her hand. " _Romeo & Juliet_ isn't a romance," she said when the teacher nodded at her. "It's a tragedy."

"Not all romances have happy endings," her teacher said. "But since you raised your hand, why don't you go ahead and start us off by reading the prologue?"

Which led into an excruciating hour of listening to her classmates stumble over iambic pentameter, and she was more than ready to leave when the bell finally rang. "We'll continue tomorrow!" her teacher called cheerfully after them as they rushed for the door. 

She headed for her next class, which wasn't likely going to be any less painful. The idea of block scheduling was great in theory – more time to spend on a given subject, fewer classes in a day so less time wasted traveling between them, you only had to carry four classes worth of books on any given day, you had two nights to do your homework... blah, blah, bah. In reality, though, it meant that every other day you had to spend nearly an hour and a half in math. 

She slid into her seat next to Wells a few minutes before the bell and found a little box sitting on the center of her desk. "You don't have to do all of this," she said as she slid the ribbon off. "But thank you."

"All of what?" Wells asked. 

"This," she said, peeling away the shiny red paper that the box was wrapped in to reveal a box of chocolates. Tears immediately rushed to her eyes, because they were from her favorite place, the one that made the really fancy chocolates with the interesting flavors, that her father had always used to get her chocolate from for any special occasion... and sometimes when she was just having a bad day. "But thank you," she said, sniffling.

"I, uh..." Wells leaned down and pulled a pocket pack of tissues from his bag and handed it to her. "I didn't?"

She blinked. "You didn't?"

He shook his head.

"Okay, so you didn't leave the chocolates. But the poem?"

"What poem?"

"The heart?"

"Clarke, I swear, I didn't do it. I mean, I love you and all, you know that, but I didn't do any of it."

Clarke frowned. If it wasn't Wells... but who else knew her well enough to know about her favorite place to get chocolate? It was out of the way, for one, and expensive for another. It wasn't the kind of place that your average high school student would frequent. Maybe she'd mentioned it at some point to someone, but who would go to all of this effort?

She had two ideas at the same time, and both of them made her vaguely queasy. The first was that someone was doing this to mess with her head. The second was that it was Finn... which would also mess with her head. She swallowed hard and tied the ribbon back around the box so that it couldn't come open in her bag, and tucked it away. 

Class started and Clarke tried to pay attention, but it was an uphill battle that she eventually gave up on fighting. She carefully tore a page from her notebook and scribbled a note to Wells, sliding it across the desk to him. He took it without looking, then glanced down to read it. 

_You didn't see who left them?_

_No._

_You swear?_

She saw his hand drop, and when she looked down he saw that he had his pinky extended. She did the same, linking them together. If he was willing to pinky swear, then he really didn't know. Which left her back at square one.

From math she went to chemistry... and of course ten minutes into the period they were interrupted by members of student council barging in carrying a big bucket of roses. "Special delivery!" they said, and began to pass them out. It was a fundraiser that they did every year. People could buy roses to have delivered to their friends (or significant others) on Valentine's Day, and Clarke's understanding was that it actually got them a pretty decent chunk of change every year. She'd sent roses to Octavia and Raven – yellow ones for friendship, or so the sign had said – just to brighten their days a bit. 

"For you," one of the girls said, laying three red roses tied together on her desk. 

"Wait!" Clarke hissed as she started to walk away. "There's no name on the tag!"

The girl looked at her and shrugged. "We don't make people say who they're from, only who they're to."

"Sorry to interrupt!" the guy that was with her said as they headed back for the door. 

Her chemistry teacher just flashed a tight smile and returned to the lesson. Clarke looked at the little tag again. There was a To and From field on it, but only the To had been filled in. She scrutinized the handwriting, but it wasn't anyone's that she recognized. She was tempted to just dump them in the trash, along with the poem and the heart (not the chocolate – she didn't care how irritated she was at whoever was doing this, she wasn't going to throw away perfectly good chocolate) and be done with this. It probably _was_ someone screwing with her.

But when the bell finally rang, she took the flowers with her, cradling them in the crook of her arm as she headed for the cafeteria. She let her bag fall on the floor next to her usual seat at her usual table and then sat down with a thump, dropping her head onto her crossed arms. Sure, she was being melodramatic... but it was turning into that kind of day. At least there was only one block left, and then she could go home and forget that any of this ever happened. 

"Wells said that your secret admirer struck again," Octavia said, plopping down across from her. "Chocolates this time."

"And flowers," Clarke said, gesturing to where they lay on the table in front of her. "When I find out who's doing this, I'm going to give them a piece of my mind." She looked around. "Seriously, if it's any of you guys, 'fess up, because it's not funny."

Miller looked at her. "You're seriously pissed off that someone is giving you things for Valentine's Day?"

"I'm seriously pissed off that someone has decided to make a fool of me," she said. 

"No one's making a fool of you, Griffin," Raven said dryly. "Except maybe you. Chill out. People are starting to stare."

Clarke glanced around, and she didn't see anyone staring... until her eyes snagged on those of one dark figure in the corner, who managed to look completely alone even when surrounded by people. Her stomach did a weird flip and she slouched back in her chair. When she glanced back up, the girl was no longer looking her way. 

"Dude, are you all right?" Monty asked. "You just got really pale."

"Fine," Clarke said. "I'm fine." And she was. Completely, totally fine. Just like...

"Now you're blushing," Jasper pointed out. "I didn't know it was possibly for a person to change colors like that so fast. Are you some kind of Valentine's Day chameleon or something?" And then he started singing, which led to everyone trying to shut him up, and Clarke was grateful for their distraction because it gave her a minute to regain her composure.

In the months since the Finn debacle, she'd sworn that she wasn't going to get involved with anyone else, and she hadn't. She hadn't even _looked_ at anyone else... except the one girl in her history class that she couldn't seem to keep her eyes off of no matter how hard she tried. It wasn't even because she was pretty (or at least not _just_ because she was pretty... and wow, was she pretty...). There was just something about her, some kind of aura or charisma or something that Clarke was drawn to. But the girl didn't even know she existed, as far as she could tell, and really it was better that way.

But.

That didn't mean that her insides didn't go a little wobbly every time she happened to catch those brilliant green eyes.

She forced herself to eat the lunch she'd packed, and although she was sorely tempted, she didn't indulge in even one piece of chocolate, mostly because she knew that if anyone else saw it, she would end up having to share, and she didn't want to. It was _her_ probably some kind of asshole prank but maybe secret admirer chocolate, and she was going to keep it all to herself.

When the bell rang, she headed for the art wing, glad that she would have the next 80 minutes to just lose herself in her project and not think about any of this. She went to the little cupboard where their portfolios were stored and pulled hers out, setting up her easel and canvas and getting out a palette for her paints. 

It was only when she reached into the big portfolio envelope for her reference picture that she realized that there was something else in there. She pulled it out and found a box of colored pencils – the really nice kind with the really vivid colors that always went on the paper so smoothly. She checked the name on the portfolio just to make sure that she hadn't accidentally grabbed the wrong one, but no, it was definitely hers. 

" _Damn it_ ," she muttered, and shoved the box into her bag. Whoever was doing this... she hated them. She hated them for apparently knowing every single string they could tug to get at her heart and for yanking on them just to... what? Just to watch her crumble when she found out that it was all a lie? 

Would it stop after today, or would it keep going? What had she ever done to deserve this? 

She had the ugly thought that maybe it was one of Finn's friends, getting revenge on her for the part she'd played in his unraveling. For the second time, she thought about dumping it all in the trash - _including_ the chocolate – to show them that she wasn't going to play their game.

By the time class was over, she'd made absolutely no progress on her painting, and she wasn't sure that she hadn't actually made things worse. 

She stormed out of the building and walked right past Octavia, who was sitting on the little wall outside the school, waiting for her boyfriend to come pick her up for whatever romantic evening they had planned. Whatever it was, she was sure she would hear all about it tomorrow. 

"Griffin!" Octavia called. "Where's the fire?"

Clarke turned around. "I just don't want to be here anymore," she said. "I want to go home and forget today ever happened."

Octavia's eyes narrowed. "You seriously think this is all some kind of cruel joke?" she asked.

"Obviously," Clarke said. 

"You're just completely dismissing the possibility that someone might actually... like you? That this really might be some kind of crazy non-malicious stunt to try to win your affections?"

"Yes," Clarke said, and turned again to go.

"Clarke, wait!" Octavia hopped off the wall and closed the distance between them. "Don't be an idiot," she said. "No one hates you as much as you hate yourself, okay?"

"I don't—" Clarke started, but Octavia stopped her with a look.

"You're allowed to have second chances," Octavia said. "Maybe this is one."

"Not every romance has a happy ending," Clarke said. 

"Maybe not," Octavia said, "but they're not all tragedies, either."

Clarke sighed. "Just... have fun with Lincoln, okay? I'll see you tomorrow."

This time Octavia let her walk away, and she made her way home with her head down, her arms wrapped around herself against the mid-February chill. 

When she got home she laid everything out on her bed – the heart, the poem, the chocolates, the flowers, and the colored pencils. She lifted the lid of the pencils... and discovered a piece of paper folded inside. She opened it up and found a map that traced a path from the school to what appeared to be some kind of park or something. Next to the X that marked the spot, it said 7:00. Although it was hard to tell, Clarke was pretty sure that it was the same handwriting as her name on the flowers' tag. 

She went and got a cup of water to put the roses in, and opened up the box of chocolates, taking one out and letting it melt on her tongue.

She wasn't going to go. Obviously she wasn't going to go, because she wasn't suicidal, and going to a strange place alone to meet someone who had obviously been paying a whole lot of attention to her for an indeterminate period of time (because they'd known her whole schedule well enough to get to each room before her) was just asking to end up in the headlines, and not in a good way. 

But was anyone who would have been able to get into the high school and wander freely all that dangerous? And everything that she'd been given... it seemed like it had all been with the intention to make her happy, to make her smile. If it was really someone trying to get revenge on her or something... wouldn't the gifts be more pointed or something? Less thoughtful? 

At 6:30, she texted Raven a picture of the map, along with a message:

 **Clarke:** If I don't text you by 7:15, this is where you should send the police.

 **Raven:** What?!?!

 **Clarke:** I'm going to get to the bottom of this whole 'secret admirer' shit.

 **Raven:** Do you want me to come with you?

 **Clarke:** No. I don't want to get us both killed.

 **Raven:** Clarke...

 **Clarke:** I'll be fine. Probably. I'll text you.

 **Raven:** You better.

Her mother was working the late shift and had left money for her to order food. Maybe she would when she got back. If she got back. She scrawled a note for her mom, just in case, wishing her a Happy Valentine's Day and telling her she loved her. Then she bundled up again and headed out. 

She followed the map from the school, and found herself in a little park that didn't look like it got much use... and then saw a little red bag with hearts cut out of its sides and a candle glowing inside of it on the ground, marking a path into a little cluster of trees that wasn't quite a forest, but was dense enough that she couldn't see straight through it. 

There was another one of the lights ahead (what were they called? luminarias?) and she followed them, a half dozen or so, until she was in a little clearing. In the center there was a cluster of giant rocks. One of them was wide and flat, and on top was a cluster of candles. When Clarke approached she saw that they formed a heart, and inside of the heart in pink sidewalk chalk it said, 'Will you be my Valentine?'

"How can I be your Valentine when I don't even know who you are?" Clarke asked, and was surprised that her voice was steady, because the rest of her was shaking. "If this is some kind of joke..."

"No joke." A voice, soft and a little husky... and distinctly not male. 

Clarke whirled and saw someone stepping out from the trees and into the glow of the candlelight. The first thing she noticed was the bright green eyes. " _Lexa_?"

And now she was glad – _so_ glad – that she hadn't eaten before she came, because her stomach was doing somersaults and backflips and probably some acrobatics that Olympic gymnasts were still working on mastering. 

"It's not a joke," she repeated, and now she was close enough that Clarke could see her clearly, could see how serious her expression was, and how absolutely, utterly terrified she was to have revealed herself like this. "Maybe... a little over the top, but... not a joke."

"Why?"

Lexa swallowed. "Go big or go home," she said. "That's what Anya said. When you want something, go big or go home."

Clarke bit the inside of her lip. She didn't know what to do with this, any of this. She didn't know how to process it. This was... this was what she wanted. Wasn't it? She took a step closer to Lexa, and she saw Lexa's eyes shift like she wasn't sure whether to hold her ground or step back... but she stayed. 

"'I will not play at tug o' war,'" Clarke said softly.

"'I'd rather play at hug o' war,'" Lexa answered. 

Clarke reached out, hooked Lexa's elbow with her hand and let it rest there. "'Where everyone hugs instead of tugs...'"

"'Where everyone giggles and rolls on the rug.'" Lexa shifted closer, and there was barely any space between them now. 

"'Where everyone kisses," Clarke breathed, and her eyes closed as their lips brushed, and she was clinging when they parted again, her fingers white-knuckled inside her gloves.

"'And everyone grins,'" Lexa said as her eyes slid open, and they were brighter now than all the candles.

Clarke leaned into her arms, holding on, letting her lips slide to her ear. "'And everyone cuddles...'"

"'And everyone wins.'"


	2. Chapter 2

Clarke's breath ghosted in front of her lips as she panted, trying to get oxygen back into her system after what had to be the most intense kiss she'd shared with anyone, ever. The whole world had shrunk down to just the way that Lexa's lips felt against hers, the brush of their tongues against each other, the press of their bodies through too many layers of clothing. Reality slowly bled back in, and Clarke watched the reflection of the candles flicker in Lexa's eyes. 

It was Lexa who looked away first, ducking her head and pulling back from the embrace, just a little. "I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't actually plan what happens next. I wasn't sure you would show up." She pressed her lips together. "I honestly didn't think you would."

Clarke shook her head, a puff of air escaping her lips as she let out a soft chuckle. "You did more than..." She didn't know how to finish the sentence. _More than I expected?_ But she hadn't expected anything. _More than I ever dreamed?_ She hadn't let herself dream it, either. _More than I deserve?_ Maybe, but she was sure that Lexa would argue with her about that, and she didn't want that to be the way they started... whatever they were starting. If they were starting anything. "You did enough," she finally said instead. "More than enough. It was—" She stopped. "What time is it?"

Lexa frowned and pulled her phone from her pocket, glancing at the screen. "7:07. Why?"

"Oh good," Clarke said. She out her own phone and shot a quick message to Raven.

**Clarke:** Everything's fine.

**Raven:** How do I know this isn't being sent by a serial killer, trying to cover their tracks?

Clarke snorted. Raven _did_ have a point, even if it was a slightly ridiculous one. But Clarke had been the one to put her on alert, so now she was responsible for convincing her that really, it had been a false alarm. 

"Can I take your picture?" Clarke asked. She bit the inside of her lip. "I need to convince my friend that I haven't been kidnapped or killed."

Lexa's eyebrows went up, but she shrugged. "Anywhere in particular you want me?"

"Yes, actually," Clarke said. She positioned Lexa by the rock where the candles were laid out, leaning in so that Raven would be able to see who it was. She snapped the picture, then took another for good measure. It was actually a good shot... maybe next time they had free choice for a project in art class she could do something with it. 

**Clarke:** Does this look like the face of a serial killer to you?

She attached the picture of Lexa and hit Send. "I sent my friend Raven a picture of the map," she said, "and told her that if I didn't text her before 7:15 to send the police here." She flushed, embarrassed at her overabundance of caution, but it hadn't seemed so misplaced at the time. 

"That's smart," Lexa said. "I'm glad you remembered before time ran out."

"Me too," Clarke said. She couldn't even imagine trying to explain that to the cops. Would they get in trouble for making them come out for something that wasn't actually anything? It seemed like at the very least, she would get a lecture about meeting strangers in the woods, and her mother would be called, which would lead to another lecture. She shifted from one foot to the other. "Are you, um, are you hungry?"

"Starving," Lexa said. 

"Do you want to come over? My mom left money for food. She's at work." Clarke didn't think about how that sounded until the words were already out. She blushed, and she was pretty sure that Lexa did too. Her phone buzzed and she looked down at it.

**Raven:** Looks like somebody's getting lucky tonight! 

She shoved it back into her pocket before Lexa could see, not needing to make this any more awkward than it already was. 

"Um," Lexa looked at the candles like she would find the answer there, and maybe she did, because after a few seconds she started to blow them out one by one, then picked them up and packed them into a small box. "Okay," she said. "Let's go."

They picked up the luminarias on their way back down the path, so that the only sign that they'd ever been there was the sidewalk chalk question left behind on the rock: Will you be my valentine?

Clarke led the way back to her house, wondering if Lexa also lived close enough to walk to the park, or if she'd driven and her car was around here somewhere. If it was, she didn't say anything about going to it, either to drive to Clarke's place or just to drop things off. Clarke wanted to slide her hand into the crook of Lexa's arm, to reassure herself that this was real, and really happening, but they had their hands full so she couldn't. 

Getting out her keys and unlocking the door required a little bit of juggling, but finally they were inside, the box of candles and the paper bag lanterns perched on the small table just inside where they usually set the mail. They kicked off their boots and shed several layers until they were down to just the clothes that they wore all day at school... although Clarke didn't think that the red buffalo plaid flannel was actually what Lexa had been wearing earlier. 

But if it hadn't been, why would she have changed? Just to meet up with Clarke? She'd already said that she hadn't expected Clarke to show up, so why would she have bothered? Maybe she'd just been thinking about warmth... but now it was Clarke who was getting heated, thinking about what it would be like to unbutton those buttons, one by one, and find out if she was wearing anything underneath...

She coughed, then cleared her throat. "Do you want something to drink?" she asked. 

"Water's fine," Lexa said, following her into the kitchen. 

Clarke had been thinking of something harder. Her mother didn't bother to keep what little liquor was in the house locked up. She said that she trusted Clarke, which either meant that she didn't think Clarke was going to drink, or that she believed that if she did, she could be responsible about it. But offering it to another minor probably didn't count as responsible or trustworthy, no matter how much it might have helped ease Clarke's nerves, so water would have to do. She grabbed two glasses from the cupboard and filled them from the pitcher in the refrigerator, handing one to Lexa before taking a gulp from the other. 

"Your house is nice," Lexa said. "A l—" But she didn't finish, opting instead to take a few sips of her water.

"Thanks," Clarke said, her response on delay because watching Lexa's throat work as she swallowed was distracting. Having her here, in her kitchen, was distracting. She glanced around, as if she might find something to talk about in one of the cupboards, and her eyes landed on the money on the counter. "Right," she said. "Food." She pulled open one of the drawers and lifted out a stack of takeout menus. Her mother did a lot of overnight shifts, which meant Clarke's dinner was delivered more often than not. Her father had been the cook in the family, and the fact that the mixer had started to gather dust made her heart hurt. 

"Hey," Lexa said, coming up beside her and putting a hand on the small of her back. "You okay?"

"Fine," Clarke said, forcing a smile. "Anything in particular you're in the mood for?"

"Pizza," Lexa said. "We never get it at home, because one of the kids can't have gluten and another is lactose intolerant. And the stuff they have at school doesn't qualify as pizza." She wrinkled her nose, and the heaviness lifted from Clarke's chest, at least a little. She couldn't help it; Lexa just looked so fucking _cute_. 

She gripped Lexa's arm and pushed up against her, planting a kiss on her nose before rocking back on her heels. "Pizza it is," she said. "Toppings?"

"Anything but pineapple or anchovies," Lexa said. 

"Damn," Clarke said. "That's my favorite."

For a second Lexa looked horrified, until she realized Clarke was joking. She pinched her waist lightly, and Clarke squirmed because it tickled. She tried to retaliate but Lexa was apparently not ticklish. The game ended when she pinned Lexa against the counter, her lips against her throat, trailing up to the hollow behind her ear, and Lexa held up her hands in surrender. 

As soon as Clarke stepped back, though, Lexa straightened and hooked her fingers into the belt loops of Clarke's jeans, pulling her in again, and it was obvious that she was hungry for more than just pizza. Clarke wasn't sure how long they might have kept going, how far they might have taken it, if her stomach hadn't growled, and Lexa's answered it. 

When they'd recovered from their giggle-fit, Clarke made the call to her favorite pizza place for a large pepperoni pizza and an order of garlic knots, which was maybe more food than they needed, and garlic was probably a terrible idea, but if they were both eating them it wasn't so bad, right? 

"Forty-five minutes," Clarke said. "Apparently Valentine's Day is a big night for pizza delivery. Who knew?" She took Lexa's hands, lacing their fingers together. "I guess I should give you the tour?" 

"If you want," Lexa said. 

"We've got some time to kill," Clarke said. She let go of one hand and led Lexa through the downstairs, which had seemed big when there were three of them living here, and even bigger now that there were only two, especially since they were rarely there at the same time. She thought about taking her upstairs but decided against it, because showing Lexa her bedroom seemed like a little too much, too soon... or maybe just too much of a temptation. 

They ended up in the living room, and Clarke switched on the TV, which was tuned to the Olympics. 99% of the time she didn't care about sports, but for a couple of weeks every two years, she found herself watching sports that under normal circumstances would have bored her to tears, cheering for athletes from countries she would probably never visit, just because they were the underdog, or whatever the story happened to be. It was another thing she and her father used to do together...

She tore her gaze from the screen and found herself looking straight into Lexa's eyes... which closed as their lips met again, their arms winding around each other as they kissed, and Lexa tipped back against the pillows piled in one corner as Clarke shifted to straddle her hips. 

Clarke felt Lexa arching up against her as they kissed, their hips rocking in rhythm as their hands wandered. Clarke let her lips stray from Lexa's to brush over her eyelids and eyebrows, the steep planes of her cheekbones, the angle of her jaw, and Lexa breathed out a sigh and tipped back her head when she reached her throat, exposing it like she was perfectly happy to be completely at Clarke's mercy.

The buttons she'd imagined unbuttoning turned out to be less sexy and more frustrating, but eventually she reached the last one and pushed the flannel aside, revealing a black cami underneath, and Lexa's nipples straining against the material. Clarke bit her lip at the realization of just how little stood between her and Lexa's breasts, suppressing a groan but unable to stop herself from grinding down against Lexa as blood rushed from every part of body to pound between her thighs. 

She edged her fingers under the hem of the shirt, and Lexa's eyes opened as they brushed over bare skin. Her fingers dug harder into Clarke's shoulder blades, where they'd come to rest, but she made no move to stop her. 

Her skin was soft, and Clarke could feel the flutter of her heart as she skated her hands over Lexa's ribs, her thumbs hooking under the elastic of the built-in bra. She hesitated for a second, until Lexa opened her eyes, and her assent was more of a blink than a nod, but it was still permission to go ahead, so Clarke pushed it up and out of the way, cupping her hands over Lexa's breasts for a moment before ducking her head to kiss them, first just a brush of her lips and then letting the tip of her tongue flick over her nipples. 

Lexa shifted underneath her, pushing herself so that she was a little more upright, and now it was Clarke's turn to shiver and squirm as Lexa unzipped her hoodie. "I love this shirt on you," she said, her cheeks growing pink like she hadn't meant to say it out loud. 

"Bet you'd love it even more off of me," Clarke teased, which was a godawful cheesy pick-up line, but for god's sake, she still had her hands in Lexa's shirt, making her shiver and rock her hips every time she traced over the sensitive skin just right. 

Lexa's cheeks stained a deeper shade of rose, but the corner of her mouth curled up, and she reached under the back of Clarke's shirt, deftly unfastening the hooks of her bra, and her touch wasn't timid, but it was tender, more gentle than it needed to be, even, not that Clarke was complaining because in her experience, most people tended to think that boobs existed to be grabbed and squeezed, and this was pretty much the opposite. 

"It's okay," she encouraged, guiding Lexa's hands to her breasts, and sighing as her touch became a little more firm, a little more sure as she learned – quickly – how Clarke liked to be touched. 

Their mouths met again, kissing hungrily, breaking apart only long enough to discard their shirts before collapsing back against the pillows, touching every inch of skin they could reach, devouring each other and wanting more. Clarke slid her hand down between them and popped the button of Lexa's jeans, easing down the zipper and—

Her phone rang, as loud and insistent as the blood pounding in her ears, and she wanted to ignore it, but it was her mother calling and if she didn't pick up she would worry, because she only called after she'd texted several times without a response.

"I'm sorry," Clarke said. "I have to..."

"It's fine," Lexa told her. 

Clarke rushed to the kitchen, yanking on her hoodie on the way. She grabbed her phone and tapped the button to answer. "Hello?"

"Hey sweetie," her mom said. After a pause she asked, "Everything all right? You sound out of breath."

_Shit._ "I had to run to grab the phone," Clarke said. "I went upstairs for a minute and left it downstairs. I didn't want you to worry."

"Ah," Abby said. "I got a break and I figured I would check in."

"I invited a friend over," Clarke said. 

"That's fine," Abby said. The rule was as long as they cleaned up after themselves and didn't do anything that would end up with the cops showing up, Clarke was allowed to invite people over whenever she wanted, even if her mom wasn't home. "Do I know them?"

"No," Clarke said. "You haven't met her yet. Her name is Lexa. She's in my history class. We ordered pizza." 

"Sounds good," Abby said. "I'm glad you have company. Just be smart and safe." Like alcohol, sex was something that her mother knew that teenagers would experiment with. So she'd armed Clarke with everything she might need to know (and several things she kind of wished she could unknow) and trusted her to make good choices. 

Which didn't actually make it any less embarrassing when she brought it up.

"It's not like that," Clarke said, even though it _was_ like that. She'd been seconds away from her hand down Lexa's pants when her mother called. Now, taken out of the moment, she was almost glad they'd been interrupted. If they hadn't been, Clarke wasn't sure where they might have drawn the line... or if they would have at all. And if she'd learned anything from her experience with Finn, it was that having sex first and asking questions later wasn't a great basis for a relationship.

She could hear the hospital intercom through the phone, someone paging her mother, and knew even before she said it that she had to go. "I'll talk to you later," Clarke said. "Or see you in the morning. Have a good night."

"You too," Abby said. "I love you."

"Love you too," Clarke said, not sure if her mother heard her as she rushed to deal with the next crisis.

When she got back to the living room, Lexa had her shirt back on, the flannel buttoned halfway. She flashed Clarke a crooked, almost nervous smile. "I think maybe..." 

"Yeah," Clarke agreed, knowing what she was going to say without her needing to say it. 

"Not that I don't, you know. I do. Just..."

Clarke laughed, reaching out and taking Lexa's hands, pulling her in and hugging her. "I know," she said. "I get it. Completely." She pulled back enough to look Lexa in the eye and smiled at her until she felt her relax a little. Clarke brushed her nose against Lexa's and kissed her lightly. "I do too, by the way. Just not yet." 

Lexa finally smiled back, and Clarke hugged her tight again, sinking into the embrace. It had been a long time since she'd just held anyone, and been held, and it felt so fucking good, she didn't want to let go. Luckily, Lexa seemed to feel the same way, and they ended up cuddled together on the couch, watching people throw themselves head-first down mountains and icy race tracks, their fingers entwined, occasionally exchanging soft kisses but not letting things get too heated.

The pizza arrived and they settled in to eat, only slowing down when half the pizza and all but one of the garlic knots was gone. "You said you have siblings?" Clarke asked, remembering Lexa's comment about not getting pizza at home.

"Sort of," Lexa said. "Foster brothers. We're not actually related. Which comes in handy sometimes when I want to pretend that I don't even know them." She flashed a smile. 

"Oh," Clarke said. "Your parents—"

"I'm a foster, too," Lexa said, like she didn't want Clarke to get the wrong idea about the situation. "I've been in the same placement for a long time, though. Anya – the one who told me to go big or go home – she used to live with us, but she aged out a few years ago. We still keep in touch. That's where they think I am right now." She grimaced, like she'd been caught out in a lie, even though it wasn't Clarke she'd lied to. 

"Will you get in trouble?" Clarke asked.

"Not if they don't find out," Lexa said. "It's not like I can't go to friends' houses, but they would have given me the third degree about it, so..." She shrugged. 

"I won't tell," Clarke promised. 

"Thanks." 

When they had eaten as much as they could hold, Lexa took the leftovers into the kitchen, and Clarke took the opportunity to put her shirt back on under her hoodie (but left the bra off, because fuck that). She went to help Lexa put everything away, her eyes snagging on the dusty mixer again in the process. "Hey," she said. "Do you want to make cookies?"

Lexa looked at her for a second like she was trying to figure out where the sudden impulse had come from, but finally gave up and just said, "Sure."

Clarke went to the pantry to get out the ingredients. "My dad used to make cookies all the time," she said. "It was kind of his thing. Bad day? Make cookies. Good day? Make cookies. But he only knew the recipe for chocolate chip cookie dough, and no matter how many times we suggested it, he never bothered to look any others up. He would just make a thousand different variations of chocolate chip... or butterscotch chip, or cinnamon chip, or whatever kind of chip caught his eye at the store. Which is why we have about a million bags with a handful of chips left in them." She grabbed the Tupperware that contained all of the mostly empty bags and plunked it down on the counter. "You can pick whatever you want." She set down another container. "And here's a selection of nuts to go with them."

"Used to?" Lexa asked. 

"He died last year," Clarke said. She'd assumed that Lexa knew; it seemed like everyone else in the world did. 

"I'm sorry," Lexa said. 

"Me too." Clarke grabbed the mixer and dragged it out, finding a cloth to dust it off with, and rinsing the bowl clean in the sink. She began to mix the ingredients, focusing on the task at hand, occasionally asking Lexa to hand her things, which she did with the precision of a surgical assistant. Finally, everything was mixed but the add-ins. "What did you decide?" she asked.

"All of them," Lexa said. "I think we should use all of them."

Clarke looked at the assortment of odds and ends, not sure that everything could possibly go together... and then decided that she didn't care. Her dad would have loved the idea. "All of them it is," she said, and they solemnly dumped every last chip into the bowl. 

"There _may_ have been more there than I thought," Lexa said, looking dubiously into the bowl.

"Yeah..." Clarke agreed. "Umm..." She considered, then scooped as many of the chips as she could out of the bowl, putting them into another bowl and mixing them around so that they were all combined before dumping half of them back in and adding the nuts, of which there were a lot fewer because nuts went bad, but chocolate chips did not. "We'll make another batch," she said. "One without nuts, in case anyone is allergic."

Lexa grinned. "Perfect." She began scooping lumps of dough onto a cookie sheet while Clarke mixed up the second batch. Soon the kitchen was filled with the smell of fresh-baked cookies, and despite the fact that they'd eaten more pizza than was probably advisable, they both had to try one as soon as they were cool enough not to burn their tongues on molten chocolate.

"Holy shit," Clarke said. "You're a genius."

Lexa rolled her eyes, first at Clarke's comment but then in pure bliss as she took a bite of the cookie they'd concocted. "Oh wow," she said. "It could have been a complete disaster, but..."

"But this is definitely the opposite," Clarke said. She pulled Lexa in and kissed her, the taste of chocolate and sugar and everything else still on her lips. 

By the time the last batch was out of the oven, the counter was covered in cookies, and it was almost eleven o'clock. 

"Shit," Lexa said. "I have to go."

_Stay,_ Clarke thought, but of course she couldn't say it. No matter how much she would have liked to go to sleep with Lexa at her side, and wake up with her there, too. Even if they didn't do anything else. Even if they just slept. 

"Take some cookies," Clarke said. 

"I can't," Lexa said. "Gluten. Chocolate. Too much sugar."

"Right," Clarke said. "I'll bring you some at school tomorrow, then." 

"If you insist," Lexa said, wrapping her arms around Clarke's shoulders and kissing her again... and again... 

When they remembered that Lexa was supposed to be leaving, it was after eleven. Lexa called her parents to tell them that she was on her way home. Clarke couldn't hear what they were saying through the phone, but she could hear that they didn't sound too happy. 

"I can give you a ride," Clarke said.

Lexa shook her head. "I can walk. It's not that far, and if they see a car other than Anya's drop me off..." She shrugged. "Not worth the risk." She sighed and added, "They wouldn't approve."

"Because I'm a girl?" Clarke asked.

"Because they don't approve of the idea of me dating at all," Lexa said, "but the girl thing doesn't help." 

"I'm sorry," Clarke said.

"Me too," Lexa said. "But not enough to stop." 

"Text me when you get home," Clarke said. "What's your number?"

Lexa gave it to her as she put on her boots and coat, and Clarke sent her a text so that she would have her number too. With one last lingering kiss, Clarke let her go, retreating back to the kitchen to put away the cookies while she waited for Lexa's text. It came about fifteen minutes later, proof that she wasn't lying when she said it wasn't far.

All this time they'd practically been neighbors and she'd never known...

**Clarke:** I hope you didn't get in too much trouble.

**Lexa:** It's fine. They're angry at Anya for not respecting curfew. Which shouldn't surprise them, since she never respected it when she lived here either. And what they don't know can't hurt them.

**Clarke:** Sleep well, and sweet dreams.

**Lexa:** You too.

Clarke gave the kitchen a last once-over, then retreated to bed, shrugging out of her clothes and into pajamas, then curling up under the blankets. She'd grabbed one of the pillows from the couch because the smell of Lexa's shampoo or body wash or whatever it was lingered on it, and she breathed it in and imagined that she was still here...

Just because they'd decided to slow down didn't change the fact that – as they'd both acknowledged – they wanted each other. Bad. And as soon as Clarke started to replay the night in her head, especially the early part of it, it was if they'd never stopped. Her entire body flushed with heat, and she could feel her heartbeat pulsing as she slid one hand between her legs and let herself imagine it was Lexa's hand instead, circling and stroking her clit with one fingertip, drawing moisture up through her slick folds...

... but then she thought about what it would be like to be doing this to Lexa, whether she would like the same things that Clarke did, or whether she would want it harder or softer, faster or slower, whether she would sigh softly or moan loudly, whether she would whisper encouragement or plead for more or say nothing at all and let Clarke do whatever she pleased... 

If she'd shared a room for most of her life, it seemed likely that she'd taught herself how to stay quiet so she didn't get caught... and maybe she was in bed right now, touching herself and imagining that it was Clarke touching her, her lips pressed together, her face buried in her pillow to muffle any noises she might make...

... and then Clarke imagined what it would be like to have her here with no one home, no one to overhear, no reason to be quiet. She rubbed herself harder as she imagined burying her fingers – or her face, which she'd never done before but had been the lucky recipient of another girl's willingness to do so at a party once – between Lexa's thighs and making her come so hard that she couldn't hold back, couldn't stay quiet...

She tensed, her muscles going tight as waves of hot pleasure flooded through her, Lexa's name dragging from her lips in a moan, and then soft again as the intensity ebbed. She reached for her phone, sending one last text to Lexa before sleep dragged her down. 

**Clarke:** Good night, valentine. ♥

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I decided that after a year it was time to dust this thing off... just in time for another Valentine's Day! Love to you all! ♥


	3. Chapter 3

Raven slid into the seat across from Clarke at the lunch table, the plastic tray of what was considered food only by some government loophole smacking down in front of her. "So?" she asked.

"So what?" Clarke responded, pulling out her own lunch, hastily packed this morning because she'd been too distracted to do it the night before. 

"So did you?" Raven waggled her eyebrows but thankfully restrained herself from making any crude gestures.

"We made cookies," Clarke said. 

"Is that what they're calling it these days?" Octavia asked, sitting next to Raven, a knowing smirk on her face. 

"No really," Clarke said, pulling the plastic containers she'd packed them in out of her bag and setting them on the table. "We made cookies."

Raven tore the lid off and dug in. A second later her eyes rolled back. "Holy shit," she mumbled, her mouth still full. She shoved another bite in her mouth, her head tilted back and her eyes closed as she finished chewing. "Holy shit," she repeated. "These are better than sex." She shoved the container toward Octavia. "You have to try one, O. These are Better Than Sex Cookies."

_More like 'instead of sex' cookies,_ Clarke thought, but she didn't say that. Her friends didn't need to know all of the details of her love life... such as it was. Lexa hadn't texted her back, and Clarke was trying not to ascribe too much meaning to that fact. She'd probably just forgotten, or maybe she'd left her phone at home. 

"Ooh, cookies!" Jasper said, reaching over them to grab a handful before they could swat him away. "Thanks, Clarke!" He plunked down at the other end of the table with Monty and Harper and the rest of their crew, and Clarke obligingly passed the cookies down to them to take a few when the noises that Jasper was making made it clear that they were not to be missed. 

Wells took his place next to Clarke a few minutes after the bell. "Had to go to my locker," he said. "What did I miss?"

"You almost missed out on the cookies that Clarke and her secret admirer made," Raven said. 

"Oh, did you ever figure out who left you all of the gifts?" Wells asked. 

"Or was it all really some evil plot against you?" Octavia teased. 

"No," Clarke said. "I mean yes. Yes, I found out who did it. No, it wasn't all some prank. Um." She realized then that she didn't know how much she ought to say. If it was something that Lexa wanted to keep a secret, she wouldn't have been so public about it yesterday, would she? Except she'd made sure that no one, including Clarke, knew that she was the one doing it. And she said that her foster parents wouldn't approve, but that wasn't enough to deter her. 

"Well?" Octavia prompted. "Are you going to tell us or not?"

Before Clarke could answer, she saw Lexa come in, reaching across her body to hitch her backpack up on one shoulder. She noticed her looking around but hesitated to do or say anything that would draw her attention, in case it wasn't Clarke that she was looking for. When Lexa did finally look her way, she raised a hand and smiled, not so big a gesture that Lexa couldn't ignore it or pretend it was probably meant for someone else if she wanted to. 

Lexa's weight rocked forward, but then she didn't move, and Clarke thought she saw the same hesitation, the same uncertainty that she felt, in Lexa's eyes. So she nudged Wells with her elbow, then shoved him farther down the bench with her hip, making room for Lexa on her other side if she wanted it.

Lexa remained where she was, partially obstructing the flow of traffic, until someone shoved into her back and forced her forward half a step. She turned and glared, but they didn't notice. Once she was moving, though, she kept moving, taking the seat next to Clarke like it was something that she did every day. 

"Everyone likes the cookies," Clarke said. 

Lexa smiled, and it made Clarke's chest feel warm, like she'd just taken a bite of one of the cookies while it was still fresh out of the oven. "I'm glad," she said. "We probably should have written down the recipe, or at least what kinds of chips we put in there." 

"I could get the bags from the garbage if I had to," Clarke said. 

"Classy," Raven interrupted.

"We wouldn't know the proportions, though," Clarke finished. "This may be a once in a lifetime thing."

Octavia opened the second container, pulling out a cookie and taking a bite. "These must be the lesbian sex cookies," she said. Raven raised an eyebrow, and Octavia grinned. "No nuts."

Raven snorted, and for a second Clarke thought she was going to have to perform the Heimlich or something on her as she sputtered on the crumbs that she'd inhaled. 

"Raven thinks the cookies are better than sex," Octavia explained, for Lexa and Wells' benefit, since they'd missed out on the beginning of the conversation. Clarke didn't dare look at Lexa, afraid of what she might be thinking, of her friends or just in general. She hoped that Lexa didn't think she'd said anything about what they'd done, or hadn't done, the night before. 

"Hi," Wells said, reaching in front of Clarke and holding out his hand to Lexa. "I'm Wells."

"Lexa," she said, taking his hand and shaking it. 

"I think we had psych together last semester," Wells said. "You sat in the back."

"Easier to observe everyone from there," Lexa said. 

Wells smiled. "You have a point. Since no one else has any manners, this is Raven and that's Octavia, and at the other end of the table is Jasper, Monty, Harper, Miller, and Brian." 

"Nice to meet you," she said. 

"So," Octavia said, "you're Clarke's secret admirer?"

Lexa glanced at Clarke, then nodded. "The secret's out."

"Did she tell you that she was convinced that someone was trying to punk her?" Octavia asked. "She was so mad."

Lexa opened her mouth, then closed it, looking over at Clarke. Clarke glared at Octavia, then shrugged. "I just couldn't figure out who would actually go to all of that trouble for me," she said softly. 

"I hope that you were pleasantly surprised to find that it wasn't," Lexa said. Clarke felt the press of her fingers against her thigh, and she wanted to reach under the table and take her hand, but it would be too obvious, and she really wasn't in the mood for any more comments from the peanut gallery. So she just shifted her leg to return the pressure.

"I was," she said.

Raven screwed up her face like she might be sick, but maybe that was just because she'd taken a bite of the 'cheeseburger' on her tray. 

"I thought it was really sweet," Wells said. 

"In a creepy stalker serial killer kind of way," Raven said, grinning. "You're gonna have to work hard to top that for the second date, though. Like... you may have set yourself up for failure."

"Why don't you have another cookie?" Clarke suggested, shoving them at Raven in the hope that it would shut her up. "Speaking of which..." She reached back into her bag and pulled out a smaller container with the cookies she'd set aside for Lexa. "These are for you."

"Thank you," Lexa said. She started to set them on the table, but Clarke blocked her. 

"If you set them down, they'll disappear. It would be like putting a nice juicy steak in front of a pack of velociraptors," she warned. 

Lexa laughed, and the sound did things to Clarke's insides that she would have preferred to not be feeling in the middle of a crowd of people, but if the alternative was Lexa not laughing at her admittedly lame joke, well... "Noted," Lexa said, and tucked them into her bag, in the place she'd just pulled her lunch from. 

Thankfully, conversation turned to things that didn't involve Clarke's paranoia or sex of any kind being had by anyone, and by the time the bell rang again, things weren't quite as awkward. They all got up, throwing away their trash and putting away their trays, parting ways in the hallway. 

"I'll see you in a bit," Lexa said. 

"Yes," Clarke said. She'd never been so excited for history in her life. Chemistry was a blur – thankfully not a lab day because she was in no state to be handling anything might catch on fire or blow up – as she replayed the 25 minutes of lunch in her head, inwardly cringing at every stupid comment her friends made, and then melting at Lexa's hand on her leg, and her smile, and her laugh...

She came back to herself for long enough at the end of class to write down her homework, then darted out the door, walking fast enough that she was breathing hard by the time that she got to the social studies wing. She slid into her usual seat, thankful that this was another class without assigned seats, but where people tended to stick to the same seats every day anyway, and there just happened to be an empty desk next to hers. 

Which Lexa walked right by when she came in, as if Clarke wasn't even there. 

"Lex—" she started to say, then stopped herself, hating that she felt so insecure over all of this. She didn't want to. She wanted to dive headlong into it and not come up for air until she absolutely had to, but maybe Lexa had other ideas.

Lexa heard, though, and she turned and smiled at Clarke, edging between the desks to take the place next to her. "No one sits here, right?" she asked. 

"No," Clarke said, "but you don't have to if—"

"I do," Lexa said. "Want to, I mean. Not have to. I assume that's where you were going with that?" 

Clarke nodded. "We didn't really talk about, well, anything. Any of this. And then my friends... I wouldn't blame you if you wanted to keep your distance."

"I don't," Lexa said. "It was just habit." She reached over and put her hand on Clarke's arm lightly. "Your friends' propensity for saying whatever pops into their head without filters isn't going to scare me off, if that's what you're worried about." 

"I just don't want you to feel—"

Again, Lexa cut her off. "I thought I made it pretty clear last night what I feel," she said softly. "If you need me to keep going, I'll do my best, but—"

"No!" Clarke said, a little too loud, and people glanced over at them. She expected Lexa to pull away, to yank her hand back across the aisle so that no one saw them touching, but she didn't. She left it right where it was, and after a moment people turned back to whatever they were doing, having decided that there was nothing to see. "You don't have to prove anything," she said more quietly. "That's not what I meant."

Their teacher came into the room, which meant that the bell was going to ring in a minute. "We can talk later," Lexa said. "After school?"

Clarke nodded. "Okay."

* * *

True to her word, Lexa met Clarke after school. "Where do you want to go?" she asked. "I would suggest the park, but it's a little cold for that."

"Do you like hot chocolate?" Clarke asked. "There's a coffee shop near my house that makes mediocre coffee, but really, really good hot chocolate."

"That's like asking someone if they like oxygen," Lexa said, flashing Clarke the biggest smile she'd seen out of her yet, and it made Clarke's heart thump extra hard in her chest, and butterflies take flight in her stomach. 

"Okay," Clarke said. "Let's go."

Lexa slid her arm through the second strap of her backpack, shrugging to settle the weight evenly, then offered Clarke her arm. Clarke took it, squeezing Lexa's arm through the layers of her coat and the sweater underneath. Lexa frowned. "Where are your gloves?" she asked. 

"Oh." Clarke checked her pockets, but they weren't there. "I think I left them in my locker?" Or she'd dropped them somewhere. They were just the cheap one-size-fits-nobody-quite-right stretchy kind, because she lost them so often her mother had stopped buying her anything that cost more than a dollar. 

"Take mine," Lexa said, sliding them off and handing them to Clarke, who slid them over her already chilled fingers. She took Lexa's arm again, while Lexa shoved her hands into her pockets. 

They walked closer together than they probably needed to, occasionally bumping when stepping around a puddle or patch of ice forced them to deviate from their path. Clarke was grateful when the coffee shop came into view, and she breathed in deep when they got inside, inhaling the rich smells of coffee and chocolate and baked goods. 

She ordered two hot chocolates with extra whipped cream and shaved chocolate on top. She handed Lexa back her gloves so she couldn't lose them before reaching into her pocket for her wallet, quickly paying before Lexa could object. When they had their mugs, they found a table in the corner with two squashy chairs and settled into them. 

"Do you think they'll notice if we supply our own cookies?" Lexa asked.

"Not if we're careful," Clarke said. She turned to shield Lexa from view while she got out two cookies for each of them, and they set them carefully on napkins, figuring that no one was likely to be paying attention enough to notice they weren't on plates – and didn't match any of the kinds of cookies in the case – as the place started to fill with the afterschool rush of caffeine addicts and chocoholics. 

Lexa smiled at her again, and Clarke wasn't sure that she would ever get used to the warm fuzzy feeling it gave her, but she certainly didn't mind finding out. She took a sip of her chocolate, leaving behind a mustache of whipped cream on her upper lip. She licked it away, her tongue tracing the curve, and Clarke found herself rendered momentarily speechless. "You're right," Lexa said, "that's really good."

"I'm always right," Clarke joked. "Once I thought I'd made a mistake, but I was wrong."

Lexa laughed, and Clarke wished that they weren't somewhere so public, because all she wanted to do right now was to kiss her... Lexa. Whatever she was to her, which was what they were here to discuss, wasn't it?

There must have been some kind of shift in her expression, because Lexa sobered quickly. "As long as you don't think that this is a mistake," she said, gesturing between the two of them. "Unless it's another mistake you're wrong about."

"I don't think this is a mistake," Clarke said. "I like you. I've liked... I've been attracted to you for a while now. Intrigued by you, wishing you would notice me. I can't say that I've liked you, because I didn't know you, and we still don't know each other that well, but... I like what I know, and I want to know more, and—"

"Good," Lexa said. "I like you too. The parts of you that I know. I want to get to know the rest of you. I want..." Faint color rose in her cheeks. "I meant it, what I said last night. About wanting... and about there not being a rush. I know..." She swallowed. "I know I asked you to be my valentine, but I didn't just mean..." She looked at Clarke. "I want to see where this goes," she said softly. "I was afraid to take a chance, until Anya convinced me that regretting not doing it was going to hurt worse than possibly getting rejected, and... it's not just about Valentine's Day. That was just an excuse to go a little over the top. I would have asked you out anyway, at some point, probably. I just—"

Clarke reached out and put a finger over her lips, stopping the flow of words that were threatening to become less and less coherent. She made sure that both of their mugs of chocolate were out of the way, then leaned in and replaced her finger with her lips, a soft brush that was barely a kiss. "Yes," she whispered. "Yes, I'll be your valentine. Yes, I'll go out with you. Yes to all of it. Okay?"

"Okay," Lexa said. "And I'm not trying to keep you a secret," she added after a moment, and another sip of cocoa. "If that's what you're worried about. I'm not big on PDA, but—"

"I'm sorry," Clarke said. "I just—"

Lexa reached over and took her hand, squeezing it. "That's not what I mean," she said. "That was barely any—" She stopped, her nose wrinkling. "That's not what I mean either. What I mean is that when it comes to being in public, I prefer to keep it to things that, if I saw any other couple doing it, it wouldn't raise an eyebrow. Holding hands, hugging, quick kisses... that kind of thing. Does that make sense?"

"Nothing that would draw attention," Clarke said. "At least if we were a boy and a girl."

"Right," Lexa said. "The fact that we're not... pretty much anything we do could possibly draw attention, and we can't help that, or stop it, but I'm not going to change what I do to suit other people's heteronormative worldview."

"Okay," Clarke said. "That feels right to me, too." And it did. Don't go looking for trouble, but don't try to hide from it, either. It was a reasonable compromise. "What about your parents?"

Lexa sighed and rolled her eyes. "Like I said, they don't want me dating anyone. The fact that you're a girl... that might make it a little more of an issue, although really, they should be happy, because they don't have to worry about you knocking me up." 

Clarke laughed. "It's a valid argument!" she said. "My mom doesn't care what – or who – I do as long as I'm safe." She saw color creeping into Lexa's cheeks, and she squeezed her hand. "She's a doctor," she said. "She's pretty pragmatic about a lot of things."

"My foster parents – foster father especially – are kind of control freaks." Lexa shrugged. "I get it, to an extent. You're being trusted with the safety and well-being of kids that aren't yours, and you're being watched by the state to make sure that you don't screw them up. Or let them screw themselves up. They've had a lot of kids with a lot of different issues, and I think they don't necessarily know what to do with someone who is just, for the most part, a normal kid."

"You're always welcome to come to my house if it gets to be too much," Clarke said, and meant it. "Even if you don't want to see me. Even if you just need somewhere quiet to do homework. We have an office, and a spare bedroom, and—"

"Thank you," Lexa said. "That... means a lot." 

"You're welcome."

* * *

"So when do I get to meet this new friend of yours?" Abby asked one night at dinner. They were actually both home at the same time for once, and her mom had actually had the energy to cook, so they were sitting at the table together like they used to all the time but rarely did since her father's death. "Lexa."

"Oh," Clarke said, looking down at her plate, hoping that her cheeks weren't turning pink but knowing that they almost certainly were. "I didn't know you wanted to."

"Of course I want to," Abby said. "I want to meet all of your friends, but particularly ones who might come over when I'm not here." She smiled at Clarke, so maybe she was sort of teasing, but not enough that Clarke was likely to be able to weasel out of it.

She wasn't sure why she was nervous about her mother meeting Lexa. There was no reason that Abby wouldn't like her, even if she knew that she was more than a friend. She was a good student, polite, not any kind of trouble-maker (at least that Clarke was aware of) and Abby wasn't the kind of person who was going to look down on her because she was in foster care. It wasn't as if it was her fault, after all. 

"This weekend?" Clarke ventured. "I could invite her over."

"Sounds good," Abby said, and thankfully conversation shifted to other things. 

That night in bed Clarke curled up in a pile of pillows, a fuzzy blanket wrapped around her shoulders, and texted Lexa.

**Clarke:** My mom wants to meet you.

**Lexa:** Okay. Should I be worried?

**Clarke:** No...

**Lexa:** Ellipses don't make things "sound" very convincing, you know.

Clarke laughed, and a few of the butterflies in her stomach stopped flapping around.

**Clarke:** There's no reason to be worried. I just have to convince myself of that, too.

**Lexa:** I'll be on my best behavior. I promise.

**Clarke:** I can't promise my mom will do the same.

The bubble that indicated Lexa was typing popped up, but it seemed like an eternity before a message came through. 

**Lexa:** Are you SURE I shouldn't be worried?

**Clarke:** No. 

**Clarke:** I mean yes. I'm sure. I just hope she doesn't say anything embarrassing.

**Lexa:** Embarrassing to you or embarrassing to me? Because I'm sure there are plenty of Little Clarke stories that I would love to hear that you would hate for her to tell.

Clarke laughed again, and wished that Lexa was here, because her ability to calm her down just through letters on a screen would be even more effective if Clarke could see her face, hear her voice, touch her... She could call her, maybe, but Lexa seemed to shy away from it. She probably just didn't want to be overheard, and Clarke understood. It didn't mean she didn't sometimes wish it could be different, though.

**Clarke:** What about Little Lexa stories? Who do I go to for those?

Another long pause, and Clarke realized before Lexa responded that that might be a sore subject for Lexa. She started to type an apology, but finally a response popped up before she could finish.

**Lexa:** Anya, I guess. She's known me since I was eight. That's pretty little. 

**Clarke:** I'm sorry. I didn't think.

**Lexa:** It's fine. 

Was it, though? Really?

**Clarke:** I'd like to meet her sometime.

**Lexa:** You say that now...

It was accompanied by a shifty-eyed, skeptical emoji, and Clarke smiled. 

**Clarke:** If she loves you, how bad can she be?

**Lexa:** That depends on whether or not she thinks you're good enough for me.

**Clarke:** Shouldn't you be the one to make that call?

**Lexa:** Not according to Anya. 

**Clarke:** Hmm...

**Lexa:** Hmm indeed. 

Clarke wanted to ask more about Anya, about Lexa's life, about whether she'd had girlfriends before and what Anya had thought of them, about whether she thought her surrogate sister would approve of her, and how much that approval mattered to her, but before she could type anything, a message from Lexa came through. 

**Lexa:** GTG. See you tomorrow. ♥

**Clarke:** ♥

* * *

Clarke was surprised to see her mother in her scrubs on Saturday afternoon. She'd thought she had the day off. Lexa would be coming over soon, and although she didn't want to get stuck hanging out with her mom and girlfriend for an extended period of time, they were at least supposed to meet.

"One of the other doctors had a family emergency," Abby explained. "I was on call, so..." She smiled. "I'm sorry that I'm not going to be here to meet your girlfriend. Please give her my apologies as well. Maybe I'll catch her tomorrow when I get home?"

Clarke's mouth dropped open, but no sound came out. She didn't even know where to start. 

Abby pulled her into a quick hug. "I know I'm not around, and that we're not as close as you and your dad were, but I'm not completely oblivious," she said. "I think I know my daughter well enough to be able to tell when she's in love. And I was a teenager once. I know what I would have done if my boyfriend was coming over and I had the house to myself. Just be safe." Abby let go of her and headed for the door.

Clarke finally managed a weak, "...Bye," as the door closed behind her.

The door opened a couple of minutes later, and Clarke looked up, expecting to see her mom back, having probably forgotten something, but it was Lexa. "She said I could just come in," she said, almost apologetic in response to Clarke's startled look. 

"She...?" Clarke pushed herself up from the couch.

"Your mom?" Lexa lined up her boots carefully on the mat inside the door. "I met her on my way in. Briefly. She said she got called in to work, but that she looked forward to meeting me properly tomorrow?"

Clarke coughed. "She kind of assumes you're spending the night."

"Oh," Lexa said. "Was that the plan?"

"It wasn't _not_ the plan?" They really hadn't _made_ a plan past Lexa coming over to meet her mother and spend the afternoon. 

"I didn't bring anything," Lexa said. "And I would have to ask."

"You don't have to," Clarke said. "That's..." She managed a crooked smile. "That's just my mom." She finally closed the distance between them, holding out her hands to Lexa and pulling her into a hug when she took them, brushing her lips against the side of her neck as she did, and warming at the shiver that went through Lexa. "She figured it out, by the way," she added. "That you're not just a friend."

"Awesome," Lexa said dryly, but when Clarke looked at her, she looked more amused than anything. "She's still okay with me spending the night, even knowing...?"

"As you pointed out, it's not like we're going to get each other pregnant," Clarke said. "And she taught me all about safe sex, no matter what the anatomy of my partner is, so..." She shrugged. "I think she'd rather know that I'm safe at home while engaging in typical teenage behavior, rather than risking public indecency charges because I decided to get it on somewhere I shouldn't because there was nowhere else."

"That's very..." Lexa's forehead furrowed, like she really wasn't sure what to make of it. 

"I know," Clarke said. "Anyway, you don't have to stay if you don't want to. There's no pressure." They were taking things slow, after all. "Even if you do stay, nothing has to happen." She tucked her hands into the back pockets of Lexa's jeans, drawing their hips together. "We could just make cookies again."

"I like cookies," Lexa said, her forehead resting against Clarke's, their noses brushing. 

"Or brownies," Clarke said. "I could really go for a nice fudgey brownie right now..." 

Lexa laughed softly, and Clarke could feel Lexa's breath against her lips. Her tongue darted out to trace over them, and Lexa seemed to take that as an invitation to kiss her and for a few minutes any kind of baked good was completely forgotten. 

They only broke apart when Lexa's phone buzzed in her pocket, startling them both. She pulled it out and looked at the screen. "Hold on," she said, quickly tapping something out before stuffing it back into her pocket. "Sorry. Just had to let them know that I arrived safely."

"Seriously?" Clarke asked before she could stop herself. "They don't trust you're old enough to walk a few blocks without getting lost or, what, kidnapped?"

Lexa shrugged. "They're paranoid." 

"Are you going to ask them if you can stay?"

"Later," Lexa said. "I vaguely remember you mentioning something about brownies?"

Clarke grinned and led her to the kitchen, rifling through the pantry for the necessary ingredients. "We don't have enough cocoa powder," she said. "We could do blondies, or we could go to the store."

"Store," Lexa said. "Blondies are just glorified chocolate chip cookies."

"Point," Clarke conceded. Thankfully, there was a small grocery store within walking distance of her house, and they were able to get what they needed, and a few extra things besides, because after the Better Than Sex cookies, plain old brownies seemed way too pedestrian. 

Back at the house, Clarke pulled out the mixture, and soon had it whirring away, mixing up the batter while Lexa frowned at her phone, reading and re-reading instructions on how to make caramel. Clarke had tried to convince her that they could just buy some, but she was having none of it. Soon the kitchen filled with the scent of melting sugar.

"You don't think cream cheese and caramel is going to be too much?" she asked, spooning dollops of batter into the pan. 

"No such thing," Lexa said, glancing away from her caramel sauce long enough to grin at her. "The cookies worked, didn't they?"

"Okay," Clarke said. "I'm trusting you." She swirled the cream cheese concoction over the batter and used a spatula to draw lines through it, then did it again when Lexa poured the thick, gooey caramel over the top. 

"What about nuts?" Lexa asked. "For some crunch."

"Were you never allowed sweets as a child?" Clarke teased. "Is that what this is?"

"Kinda no," Lexa admitted. "I didn't even get to go trick-or-treating, because all of that candy wasn't good for me. Anything that I got at school got put into a big Ziploc and was doled out one piece at a time over the span of months when I was especially good. The only time I got candy or cookies or anything was when Anya snuck them into the house and shared them with me."

"That sucks," Clarke said. "My parents tried to stick to mostly healthy stuff but that was in part so that when we wanted to indulge, there was no reason to feel guilty about it. Not that people should feel guilty in the first place, but that's a whole other thing." Her parents had gone to a lot of effort to try and keep her from absorbing the poisonous views the media doled out about women's bodies and how they should look, and had mostly been successful. Sure, Clarke sometimes had moments of insecurity about how she looked – who didn't? – but most of the time she could look in the mirror and smile and be happy with what she saw. 

"I definitely don't plan to feel guilty about these brownies," Lexa said. "How long should I set the timer for?"

* * *

Brownies took a lot longer to bake than cookies, and with nothing else to do while they waited, they ended up on the couch, Lexa's weight pressing Clarke down into the cushions as they kissed until their lips were swollen and their bodies pulsed with desire, but they kept their clothing on, and their hands mostly outside of it, although they couldn't really help it when their shirts rucked up a little, exposing bellies and backs that begged to be touched. 

They pulled apart with breathless groans when the timer went off. Clarke grabbed the brownie pan from the oven and set it on the counter to cool, keeping her distance from Lexa to give herself time to cool down as well. 

"Maybe we should watch a movie or something," she suggested. "If we try to cut them any time soon, they'll crumble."

Lexa nodded, and they found some ridiculous superhero movie to watch, cuddled together but behaving. By the time it was done the brownies were definitely cool enough to cut, but it was practically dinner time and their stomachs were growling for something more substantial, so they decided to save them for dessert. Delayed gratification would just make them all the sweeter, right?

It felt like a metaphor.

"Where do you want to order from?" Clarke asked. 

Lexa shrugged. "I could make something, if you wanted."

"I don't know if we even have anything in the house to make," Clarke admitted. "My mom cooks once in a while, and if there was a delivery person strike I could manage to not starve, but..."

"So we go to the store again," Lexa said. "Unless you'd rather just order something?"

"I want whatever you want," Clarke said. "I'm pretty sure I would be an idiot to turn down having my girlfriend cook for me."

Lexa's cheeks went pink, and Clarke wrapped her arms around her and kissed her, her back bumping into the counter as she pressed into Lexa. Lexa was even more flushed when they broke apart for air. "Store it is," she said.

It turned out Lexa really could cook, making some Italian chicken dish with mushrooms (which Clarke normally hated, but she hadn't said so when she'd seen Lexa pick them out, not wanting to ruin whatever she had planned) that made her reconsider her stance on fungi. 

Finally, it was time for the brownies, and once again, Lexa had been right: there was no such thing as too much. They were rich and chocolatey, with the slight tang of the cream cheese and the sweetness of the caramel, which had been accented with just a hint of salt that seemed to bring everything together and heighten all of the flavors. 

"Oh my god," Clarke groaned. "These are better than—"

"Don't say it!" Lexa said, laughing. "Don't you dare!"

"I was going to say, 'the cookies'," Clarke said, grinning. "Which are, of course, better than sex."

Lexa groaned, nudging Clarke's shin with her toe under the table, which might have led to an all-out-brawl between their feet if Clarke hadn't accidentally kicked the table leg instead of Lexa and winced. 

"Are you okay?" Lexa asked. 

"Fine," Clarke said. "Serves me right for trying to retaliate when I totally deserved it." 

They got up and cleaned up the kitchen, packing away the rest of the brownies so they wouldn't be tempted to keep eating them when they were already stuffed. Clarke stopped in the opening between the dining and living area, looking over at the stairs. "Did you... maybe... want to stay?" she asked. 

Lexa bit her lip, and then slowly nodded. "I have to ask, though." 

"Okay," Clarke said. She leaned against the arm of the couch while Lexa walked a few steps down the hall, her phone pressed to her ear. She couldn't quite make out what she was saying, but when she came back, her expression was caught somewhere between anguish and rage. "I take it they said no?"

"He – Titus, my foster father – wanted to talk to your mom, make sure that it was really okay. I said that she was at work but would be home later. He said that that wasn't acceptable, and that I needed to come home now, and that I wasn't allowed to come here again, because there was no 'supervision'."

"Like, ever?"

"That was the implication." 

"That's..." Clarke swallowed back all of the nasty things that she wanted to say. "Hopefully he'll calm down," she finally said. "You're practically an adult." 

"I know that," Lexa snapped, then sighed. "I'm sorry. I—"

"It's okay," Clarke said. "I know you're not angry at me. You're just frustrated." 

"He wants to control me," Lexa said. "And the problem is, he pretty much can. As long as I live under his roof..." She shook her head. "Anyway, I have to go. If I'm not home within the next twenty minutes, it... won't be pretty."

Clarke's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

"Not that," Lexa said. "Nothing like that. It will just make it even less likely that my foster mother will be able to talk him down or that he'll calm down on his own and reconsider." She forced a smile that she obviously didn't feel. "Tell your mom I'm sorry we didn't get a chance to talk more."

"I will," Clarke said. "Text me when you get home?"

"If he doesn't take away my phone," Lexa said. "If he does, maybe I can try sending you smoke signals."

Clarke made herself smile back at her. "Okay," she said. She wrapped her in a tight hug, not letting go until Lexa's grip on her loosened. She kissed her lightly, just the faintest brush of her lips against Lexa's, and let her go, standing in the doorway until she was out of sight.


	4. Chapter 4

Sunday was one of the longest days of Clarke's life, second only to the day of her father's funeral. The fact that her mother was home only made it worse, because everything she said and did rubbed Clarke the wrong way. She'd barely slept the night before, worried about Lexa even though Lexa had said that it wasn't 'like that' with her foster father, meaning that his anger wouldn't manifest in the form of violence. But there were other ways to break a person down, other ways to make their lives hell, and given the fact that the only communication she'd gotten from Lexa was a quick text of, 'Home safe,' cutting her off from the outside world seemed to be his _modus operandi_.

And it was her mother's fault. If her mother had been home like she was supposed to be, she could have talked to Titus on the phone, reassured him that they were well-supervised and safe, and Lexa could have stayed...

Would she still have invited Lexa to stay if her mom had been home? Probably. Even if they didn't... Clarke still would have wanted her to stay. She still would have relished getting to go to bed with her and wake up with her, and whatever they decided to fill in the space in between, even if it was just sleep. 

Her mother was sorry, like she was always sorry when something came up, but usually she said it once and was done with it, because it was just a fact of their lives and always had been. Clarke's dad had been the one who was always around when she needed him. He was the one who went to every science fair, every art show, every parent-teacher conference... Her mom tried to be there whenever she could, but her job made her miss things. And Clarke hadn't gotten mad (much), because how selfish would she have to be to think that her mom seeing her get a blue ribbon was more important than saving someone's life? And she had her dad, always.

Now she was older and she told herself that she cared less about having someone there to witness her achievements, and sometimes she even meant it. She had her friends to cheer her on; having a parent there wasn't as much of a priority. Her mom made more of an effort, too, for the things that were most important. 

Neither of them had known that this would be one of those times, but possibly her mother sensed her mood because she kept saying that she was sorry, and she hoped that they could find another time, and—

"Stop," Clarke snapped. "Just stop. There's not going to _be_ another time."

Abby's eyes went wide. "What do you mean?" she asked. "What happened?"

Clarke clenched her jaw, grinding her teeth as she tried to decide what, if anything, to tell her. It wasn't as if there was anything that she could do about it now, so what was the point? That ship had sailed. Not that it would be the end of her relationship with Lexa; they could still see each other at school, and eventually her foster father was bound to calm down and get over it, but...

"Did you two have a fight?" Abby asked. "Is that why she didn't stay?"

Clarke rolled her eyes. "We didn't have a fight, Mom. We're not children."

Her mother rolled her eyes right back. "I know that," she said. "That doesn't mean that you can't fight. Adults do it all the time."

"She just had to go home," Clarke said. "She's not allowed to spend the night anywhere when there's not a parent home." 

"Ah." Her mother sighed. "I really am sorry, Clarke. I—"

"I know," Clarke said. "Okay? I know. Your job comes first. I'm used to it. It's not a big deal." 

"It would be a lot more convincing if you weren't scowling as you said it," Abby told her. "I know I've let you down. I know I haven't always been there when you need me to be. I'm sorry that meant you didn't get to have the weekend you wanted. Next weekend I'm not scheduled, and I'm not on call, so—"

"Too bad she's grounded," Clarke said. 'Under house arrest for the foreseeable future' was probably a more accurate description of the situation, or at least that was the vibe she'd gotten from Lexa, but grounded would have to do. 

"What did she—" Abby started, but stopped at Clarke's look. 

"Nothing," Clarke said. "She didn't do anything but come over when you were supposed to be here, and when her foster father found out that you weren't here, she had to go home and she's not allowed to come back."

"Ever?" Abby asked, frowning. "That seems a little extreme. Do you want me to talk to him? I'm sure if I explain—"

"No," Clarke said. "The damage is already done. Maybe Dad could have fixed it, but this isn't something that you can fix with a scalpel and some sutures, so not really your area of expertise." 

Abby sighed. "I'm sorry, Clarke. If there's anything I can do, please let me know. I forget sometimes that other parents don't trust their children the way I trust you." 

It was Clarke's turn sigh, letting go of some of the anger that she so desperately wanted to cling to, because what good did it do? "I'll talk to her Monday," she said. "We'll see."

* * *

Clarke waited outside the school on Monday even though it was bitterly, almost brutally cold. She breathed a sigh of relief – a visible puff of steam from her lips – when she saw Lexa approaching, having gotten out of a car without giving it so much as a backward glance, even as it idled there like whoever was inside was watching to make sure she actually went into the school. Clarke stepped in front of her, but Lexa gave a quick shake of her head, so Clarke just fell into step beside her. She followed Lexa inside and into a little out of the way corridor that housed what Clarke assumed were storage rooms. 

Her eyes flicked down Lexa's body, trying to see past the layers of clothing before they came back to her face, searching for anything that might indicate that Lexa hadn't been entirely truthful about her foster father's potential reaction. 

"I'm okay," Lexa said, her lips curving into the faintest of smiles as she reached for Clarke's hands. "Clarke." 

Clarke brushed aside Lexa's fingers in favor of crashing into her, wrapping her arms around her and holding her as tight as she could manage with a backpack in the way. 

"Oh!" Lexa said, a sound that was a mix of surprise and laughter, before she returned the embrace, nuzzling her nose against Clarke's temple. "I really am okay, Clarke," she whispered. "I swear."

_Maybe I'm not,_ Clarke thought. _Maybe I've been worried since you left. Maybe I just need this, need to hold you, just for a minute..._

Because the truth was that worried didn't cover what she'd been feeling. She'd been terrified. It wasn't even all about what she thought might happen to Lexa... she was self-aware enough to realize that some of it – maybe most of it – was rooted in the fact that she didn't know how to handle just how much she cared about Lexa in such a short time. Because the time she'd spent crushing on her didn't really count. Attraction, fascination, even infatuation wasn't the same thing as caring...

... and she cared so damn much about Lexa. In the span of a week, her feelings had morphed into something that she didn't know how to contain, and it scared the hell out of her.

She tipped up her face and found Lexa's lips, kissing her just long enough to get the taste of her on her lips, to breathe her in and hold her in her lungs, and then she let go because the bell was about to ring or maybe had already rung. "I'll see you later?"

Lexa blinked away the hypnotized glaze that had formed in her eyes and shook her head slightly with a laugh. "Not if I see you first."

* * *

Every day that week they went through the same routine, except Clarke met Lexa inside instead of out at her request, and every day Lexa held her a little longer and a little tighter, especially at the end of the day before she had to go out and get in that car again. It made Clarke's heart ache and tied her stomach in knots, and every time Lexa smiled at her and told her she was okay it felt more like a lie. 

On Friday afternoon she finally dared to ask, "Has he changed his mind at all? My mom—" But Lexa shook her head no, and Clarke didn't press the issue, just pressed Lexa further back into the shadows, pushing up on her toes so that their bodies aligned, and she heard Lexa's breath catch, felt the rumble of a soft moan against her mouth as her fingers curled into Clarke's beltloops and dragged her hips fractionally closer. 

When they broke apart, they were both flushed and panting, and Clarke opened her mouth to say... something, but she didn't know what – begging Lexa to defy Titus? tell her exactly what she wanted to do to her and to hell with the fact that they were in a school hallway and could potentially be discovered any second? let slip the words that kept rising to the tip of her tongue even though they had to be premature? – so in the end she let Lexa suck the silence from her tongue. 

"I'll be on my best behavior this weekend," she murmured, her breath tickling Clarke's neck. "He'll have to relent eventually." Lexa forced a smile, trying to convince herself of the words as much as she was trying to convince Clarke, and Clarke smiled back, nodding. 

"Call me if you can," she said. "Or text me."

"I will," Lexa said, her lips still curved upward but her eyes going dull. "I'll see you Monday."

"Not if I see you first," Clarke teased.

* * *

She spent Saturday with her friends, doing the same kinds of things that they always did: eating junk food, watching movies, playing video games, pretending to study, occasionally actually studying... but it was like there was kind of invisible wall between her and the rest of them, some kind of dampening forcefield that made it so she couldn't actually feel what she was supposed to be feeling. The fact that they kept teasing her about pining over Lexa didn't help. She tried to be good-natured about it, but her smiles were grimaces, her laughter forced through gritted teeth.

Only Raven seemed to pick up on it, and she didn't say anything until that night when Clarke was driving her home. "You could have invited her, you know," she said. "We like her." 

"I know," Clarke said. Lexa had been eating lunch with them most days and she'd started to make a place for herself in the group. She was mostly quiet, but occasionally she would make a comment or some quip that would take a second to land. They were getting used to her dry sense of humor, and she was getting used to their chaos. 

"Is everything okay?" Raven asked. "With her?"

"We're fine," Clarke said.

"That's not what I asked," Raven said more gently. "I asked if everything was okay _with her_."

"I don't know," Clarke admitted. "She says so, but..." She swallowed. "Her foster father is overprotective. Controlling. When he found out that she'd been at my house when my mom wasn't there, he grounded her... seemingly indefinitely. She says it's nothing more than that and he'll get over it eventually, but..."

"Is there anyone you can ask?" Raven prodded. "Anyone who knows her better?"

"I don't know," Clarke said. Lexa didn't seem to have many friends at school; it was like she knew everyone in passing, smiling and saying hi in the halls, but she wasn't close to anyone. The only person she'd mentioned to Clarke was her older sister Anya, who didn't live with them anymore, but who lived close enough that she was a plausible alibi when it came to Lexa lying about her whereabouts. Which wasn't all that useful, since Clarke had no way of tracking her down. 

They pulled up in front of Raven's building, and Raven cringed as their attention was drawn to a woman standing on one of the tiny balconies wearing only her bra and panties and a men's button-down, unbuttoned despite the chill, as she sucked alternately on a cigarette and a beer and shouting hoarsely at a man who stood in front of the building, shirtless and cursing back at her as he fumbled with his belt. 

Clarke saw Raven's shoulders slump as she braced herself to get out, and Clarke reached over and grabbed her arm. "You want to spend the night?" she asked. "We can stop at that taqueria you like on the way."

"I'm buying," Raven said. 

Clarke shrugged. "Sure."

Raven closed the door again and they took off.

* * *

"He gave me back my phone," Lexa said on Monday morning when they came up for air. "Just now." 

"That's good," Clarke said. "Right? That's progress."

"Assuming he doesn't take it away when I get home again, and he's not just letting me have it so he can reach me if he needs me, yes," Lexa said. 

"Would he do that?" Clarke asked.

Lexa shrugged. "Maybe." She seemed to deflate a little. "Probably." 

"Lexa..." 

"I know," Lexa said, pulling Clarke to her and holding her tight, her face pressed into the side of Clarke's neck. "I'll figure it out, okay? Just give me time."

Clarke nodded, but it ate away at her, and she missed most of what was said in her classes because she couldn't stop thinking about what might be happening to Lexa when she was at home, what she might be hiding from her, and what Clarke could do about it, which was essentially nothing without some kind of evidence, some kind of proof. 

She thought about what Raven had asked, if there was anyone who knew Lexa better than she did, and at lunch she had an idea. "Can I borrow your phone?" she asked Lexa. "I forgot to charge mine last night and it's basically dead." 

"Sure," Lexa said, tapping in the security code – did Titus know it? – and handing it over. Clarke caught Raven's eye, and it took only a second for her to figure out what Clarke was doing and to drag Lexa into the debate she and Octavia were having, distracting her long enough for Clarke to pull up Anya's phone number in Lexa's contacts, staring at it until it was fixed in her mind and then switching over to another app like she was checking something before closing everything down again and handing it back to Lexa. 

"Thanks," she said, and Lexa smiled and tucked the phone back into her pocket, still trying to settle the argument between Clarke's friends as Clarke quickly scribbled Anya's number down and tucked it into her bag. Maybe it was wrong to do it. Maybe she should have just asked, made up some lame reason for wanting it, something... but if Lexa said no, it would leave her worse off than she started, because Lexa would be suspicious...

She told herself she wouldn't use it unless she had to.

* * *

On Wednesday they got caught making out by Ms. Gunn. Any other teacher would have just let them go with a warning, but she was a notoriously intolerant prude when it came to PDA (Octavia's theory was that it had been so long since anyone had touched her that she probably had cobwebs down there) so they ended up in detention after school on Thursday.

On Friday Lexa was absent, and she didn't respond to any of Clarke's texts. On Saturday when Clarke tried to call her, desperate to know that she was okay, she got a message that the number she was trying to call had been disconnected or was no longer in service. 

She texted Anya.

**CLARKE:** This is Clarke. I'm a friend of Lexa's.

She held her breath as the three little dots that indicated that Anya was typing popped up right away. 

**ANYA:** Just a friend? That's not what she told me. ;-)

Clarke bit her lip, her heart squeezing with something other than fear for once at the thought that Lexa had told her sister that they were more than friends. What had she said? Had she called Clarke her girlfriend? Had Anya grilled her for all the details about how Valentine's Day had went? Did she know that they'd almost...

_Focus, Clarke,_ she told herself. _That's not important right now._

**CLARKE:** Have you heard from her?

**ANYA:** Not in a few days. Why?

**CLARKE:** Her number's disconnected.

**ANYA:** That ASSHOLE. 

**ANYA:** Where are you?

Clarke frowned. Why did it matter to Anya where she was?

**CLARKE:** Home. Why?

**ANYA:** You know where Capitol Coffee is?

**CLARKE:** Yeah.

**ANYA:** Can you get here? I'm working but its dead. 

_That's because your coffee sucks, your pastries are stale, and there are barely any outlets for people who want to plug in laptops,_ Clarke thought. 

**CLARKE:** I can be there in 10.

**ANYA:** See you then. I'll be the one wearing the nametag that says Anya. ;-)

**CLARKE:** Funny that. 

She added the rolling eyes emoji. 

**CLARKE:** See you soon. 

**ANYA:** Not if I see you first.

Clarke laughed. She liked Lexa's sister already.

* * *

A bored-looking young woman stood behind the counter, idly rearranging plastic-wrapped cookies and brownies on a tray like they would somehow be more appealing if they ware stacked in a perfectly symmetrical pyramid. She looked up at the jangle of the bell on the door, and Clarke was sure that she heard her sigh. 

"Can I—" she started to say as Clarke approached, but then one side of her mouth tugged up and the corners of her eyes crinkled. "So _you're_ Clarke," she said. 

Clarke's eyes flicked down, and sure enough, the nametag said Anya. She wasn't at all what Clarke had expected; even though she knew that Lexa and Anya weren't biologically related, Clarke had still assumed for some reason that they would look at least somewhat alike. They both had killer cheekbones, but that was about the extent of the resemblance. "And you're Anya," she said, pointing at her chest. 

"Whatever Lexa has told you about me is all 100% true," Anya replied. "Especially the parts about how awesome I am."

"She told me that if I wanted Little Lexa stories, you would be the person to ask," Clarke said. 

Anya's already lopsided smile grew even more crooked. "As far back as I can go," she said. "I didn't know her when she was really little." 

"I know," Clarke said. "That's not actually why I'm here. Not this time."

"Business before pleasure," Anya said. "Got it. Speaking of, can I get you anything?"

"Uh..."

"I know. It's all godawful, but it's close to my apartment and they were hiring." Anya shrugged. "I never thought I'd say this, but I would rather be at the House of Bounce, but Dickhead Dave is the manager today and we don't get along, so..." She shrugged. "I'll even make you a fresh pot."

"Okay," Clarke said. "I'll have—"

Anya cut her off. "I only know one way to make it drinkable, so that's what you're getting. Unless you're lactose intolerant, and then I only know how to make it halfway drinkable." 

"How much—"

She waved Clarke over toward the chairs clustered around a gas fireplace. "On the house. I'll bring it over when it's done."

"Thanks," Clarke said, feeling slightly off-balance as she went and had a seat. She wished she'd brought a book or something to keep herself busy, because she'd already scrolled through her feed on every social media app she had, and no one had posted anything new. 

Anya came over with a mug and a plate, on which sat what Clarke thought was supposed to be a cream cheese brownie. It looked sort of sad and shriveled. "You don't have to eat it if you don’t want to," Anya said. "But if it doesn't get eaten, it will get thrown out. Which maybe would be for the better."

She took off her apron and shoved it behind her in the chair as she sat down. "So Lexa's phone is off?"

"Not off," Clarke said. "Disconnected."

Anya pressed her lips together, frowning. "He's such an asshole. He thinks..." She shook her head. "I don't even know what he thinks. He thinks he can control her, but I don't know to what end. I don't know what his objective is, what he thinks he's going to accomplish, what he gets out of it. She's smart, and she's going to go far in life, but he acts like if she's a kid, if she does the normal things that teenagers do, that will all just... disappear or something."

Clarke sipped her coffee, and it was... not good, but okay. "Does he ever...?" She trailed off, not sure why it was so hard for her to say it. 

Anya shook her head. "He never has before," she said. "But there's a first time for everything."

The grim look in Anya's eyes sent a jolt through Clarke and her coffee sloshed, burning her fingers. She set down the mug hastily and mopped them with a napkin, blowing on the reddened skin. "She says he doesn't like the idea of her dating," she said. 

"He doesn't," Anya said. "Lexa had a girlfriend before... the summer after freshman year... but it didn't last long. She brought her home once and he managed to scare her off. I wasn't there so I don't know what he said, but that night she broke up with Lexa, and she hasn't seen her since."

"She was at my house, and asked if she could stay over, but when he found out that my mom wasn't there he made her come home," Clarke said. "Then we got caught—"

Anya smirked. "She told me. On Wednesday. I haven't heard from her since."

"She was in school Thursday. We had detention. She wasn't there yesterday, and now I can't reach her."

"Which begs the question, now that I think about it – how did you get my number?"

"I asked her borrow her phone and I wrote it down," Clarke admitted. "Just in case." _Just in case of something like this._

"Smart girl," Anya said. "He's probably just pissed off, although keeping her out of school is strange, to say the least. Usually she would have to be physically unable to stand before he would let her take a day off. Actually disconnecting her phone rather than just taking it away..." Her frown deepened. "It's definitely an escalation." She looked at Clarke. "She's probably fine," she said. "As misguided as his methods are, he genuinely cares about her. Maybe too much—not like that," she added hastily when she saw the look on Clarke's face. "Not like that. I'll check on her, okay? After work I'll go over there and check on her. He won't like it, but he won't stop me, either. He wouldn't dare."

* * *

Clarke was erasing the answer to a math problem for the third time when her phone chimed, indicating she'd gotten a text. She glanced over at the screen, but there was no name attached, just a number. It chimed again. She picked up the phone to read it.

**UNKNOWN:** Anya says I'm not allowed to be mad at you for stealing her number off my phone.

**UNKNOWN:** It's Lexa, btw. New phone. New number.

Clarke blinked hard against the wash of tears that filled her eyes. 

**CLARKE:** Are you mad?

**UNKNOWN:** No. You were just looking out for me.

**CLARKE:** Does this mean he's finally relented? 

**UNKNOWN:** This means that Anya got me a new phone on her plan so he can't disconnect it, and told him that if she ever finds out that he's taken it away, she'll call CPS.

Clarke's heart clenched. As much as she situation with Lexa's foster father worried her, the thought of Child Protective Services getting involved and taking Lexa away scared her more. If that happened, there was no guarantee that she would end up somewhere close enough for Clarke to see her. She would almost certainly end up at another school. And wherever she ended up might not be better. Anya would know all that too, of course, so she must have been reasonably confident that the threat would be enough. Unless she wasn't thinking things through... Clarke didn't know her well enough – at all, really – to know what her temper might be like when provoked. 

**CLARKE:** I want to see you.

**UNKNOWN:** I want to see you, too.

**CLARKE:** Meet me at the park?

There was a pause, a long span where nothing came up on Clarke's screen. Not even the dots that showed Lexa was typing. Clarke tried to distract herself from the lack of response by adding the new number to her contacts. 

Finally a message came through.

**LEXA:** Okay. 

**CLARKE:** See you soon.

Clarke stripped off her pajamas and scrambled into something warmer. Winter still had them in its grip, and with the sun long since sent, she knew if she didn't layer up, she would be shivering in her boots in no time. She pounded down the stairs, glancing into the living room where her mother was on the couch, her laptop on the coffee table. She appeared to have dozed off, and Clarke tried to be quiet as she wrapped herself in a scarf and hat and tried to find a pair of gloves. 

"Where are you going?" Abby asked, and Clarke jumped. She hadn't heard her get up. "It's late."

"To see Lexa," Clarke said. "You're not stopping me."

Her mother raised her eyebrows. "Where are you meeting her?"

"The park."

"The park is closed," Abby pointed out. "It closes at sunset."

"I don't—" Clarke frowned. "I need to see her."

They just stared each other down for a moment, and finally Abby sighed. "It's too cold to hang out outdoors," she said. "Bring her here. I'll deal with her parents if I have to. And take your car."

Clarke threw her arms around her mother. That wasn't the reaction she'd been expecting, but maybe she should have. As often as they were at odds, Clarke knew that her mom cared about her, and by extension, the people that she cared about. She'd practically taken Raven on as a second daughter by now; she was already talking about helping her find a summer internship – paid – that would help her get where she wanted to go career-wise. 

"Go on," Abby said, pressing a kiss to Clarke's head. "Don't leave her waiting."

"Thanks Mom," Clarke said. She grabbed the keys and hurried out to the car, blasting the heat on the short drive so that the car would be at least vaguely warm when Lexa got in. She parked just inside the gate, which wasn't shut even though her mother was right about the park technically being closed. After five minutes, she started to worry that Lexa hadn't been able to get out of the house. After ten, worry started to turn into panic, and she texted Lexa a cascade of increasingly frantic messages.

**CLARKE:** Where are you?

**CLARKE:** I'm in my car just inside. 

**CLARKE:** Are you already here? 

**CLARKE:** Did he not let you leave? Tell me where you are and I'll come get you.

**CLARKE:** Lexa? Just text me back. 

She dropped her phone when something thudded against her window. She was afraid to look, expecting to see a police officer wanting to know what she was doing here. What would she say? She should have parked on the street; there was nothing suspicious about that, and she still would have been able to see Lexa as she approached. She was trying to get a story together as she scrambled to retrieve her phone from where it had slid between her legs as she finally looked up.

_Lexa._ For the second time that night her eyes brimmed, and this time they spilled over as she motioned for Lexa to go around to the other side, fumbling to hit the button to unlock the door. 

As soon as Lexa settled into the seat, Clarke put the car in drive and pulled out, swiping hastily at her eyes to clear her vision. 

"Where are we going?" Lexa asked, grabbing her seat belt and clicking it into place. 

"Home," Clarke said. 

Lexa didn't argue, and a few minutes later they were parked in Clarke's driveway again. Clarke got out of the car, afraid to look at Lexa until they were safely inside. She wasn't even sure what she was afraid she was going to do if she discovered something amiss while still in the car... she just knew that she needed to be inside, needed closed and locked doors between them and the rest of the world before she risked her fragile hope that now that Lexa was with her again everything would be okay being shattered. 

"Clarke," Lexa said, catching up to her as she tried to fit the key into the lock with shaking hands. "Clarke, look at me."

Clarke shook her head, twisting the key only to realize she hadn't locked the door behind her and neither had her mother. She shoved it open and stepped inside, glancing back to make sure that Lexa followed. 

Abby stepped into the entryway. "I'm Abby," she said, offering Lexa her hand. "It's good to finally meet you properly. I'm sorry that I was in such a rush last time."

"We're going upstairs," Clarke interrupted. 

Abby looked at her and nodded. "All right. Do you need anything? Tea? Cocoa?"

Lexa shook her head. "No ma'am," she said. "Thank you."

"If you change your minds, let me know," Abby said. "I'll be up for a little while yet."

"Thanks," Clarke said. She climbed the stairs, each step taking more effort than the last, and pushed open the door to her room. She regretted not showing it to Lexa before, because now it felt heavy, the moment weighted with everything that was happening, the room now somewhere they had to go to escape the things the were running from instead of somewhere they wanted to go to find the things they were running toward. 

Clarke never locked her door, but she did now, and finally, finally looked at Lexa, starting from her feet and traveling up to her face, and she looked fine, physically, she looked completely untouched, unharmed. But there was something in her eyes – uncertainty, even fear – that unsettled Clarke, because Lexa was always so calm, so strong...

"I'm sorry," Clarke said. "I—"

Lexa shook her head. "Don't be," she said. "You have nothing to be sorry for." She held out her arms, and Clarke fell into them, clinging for long seconds, her hands sliding over Lexa's back, bracing herself for the moment that Lexa flinched, for when she found the place where Titus had hurt her... but she didn't find that place. The only effect it had was to draw Lexa closer, their bodies molding against each other, and when she lifted her face to look at her again, Lexa's lips met hers in a hungry kiss.

For a moment Clarke forgot everything but Lexa's mouth against hers, the brush of her tongue against her lip so that she parted them, letting the kiss deepen as they clutched at each other, rucking up shirt hems to slide hands underneath, tucking fingertips into waistbands to grind hip against hip. Their stomachs pushed against each other as they gulped in breaths, and Clarke took a step toward the bed, pushing Lexa back until her legs hit it and folded, the kiss torn apart as she sat abruptly down. 

Lexa's lip trembled as she looked up at Clarke, a tear sliding down her cheek, and Clarke brushed it away with her thumb. "Do you want to talk—" she started to ask, but Lexa shook her head, reaching up to pull Clarke down, and there were no more words...

**Author's Note:**

> With love and thanks to Shel Silverstein for his poem "Hug O' War"


End file.
